


Align

by leighthepeach



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:08:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighthepeach/pseuds/leighthepeach
Summary: 1. To put things in their correct or appropriate positions.2. To give support to.A collection of moments and ficlets between Death the Kid and Liz Thompson. Each chapter is a stand alone scene.





	1. Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once he assumes his role as Lord Death, Kid’s stress and anxiety rocket to new heights. But he hides it all away behind a mask and a part to play. Liz decides that won’t do at all.

Want to suggest a prompt for Kid x Liz or peruse my other works? Click here: [X](https://leighthepeach.tumblr.com/) 

Kudos and comments are very appreciated

* * *

 

Liz hates that stupid mask. A white cage that he traps himself behind, trying so desperately to remain impassive, in control of it all. It makes sense, he is supposed to be a god now, after all.

But even gods feel. Whether he wants to admit it or not.

All day he has been meeting with the Death Scythes, his highest meisters, and other officials trying to keep the world turning. For hours, his polished, collected voice has grated on her nerves. The white gloved hands clasped behind his back or folded atop his knee making her grind her teeth.

But she waits, bides her time until each and every visitor disappears through the guillotine arches, until every mirror conversation ended. Only when they are entirely alone, when even Patty has skipped off to get some much needed rest at Gallows Manner, does she break her silence.

“Off.”

He starts before the mirrors, whips his covered head in her direction. “What?” She can hear his brow quirking, almost see the confused scowl behind that white skull. Good, about time he sounded like himself.

She crosses the few steps between them, looks up into the infinite black sockets that betray nothing. Her silver bangles clink softly as a hand rises to grasp the edge of his mask. “All day I’ve seen nothing but Death. I want to see Kid.”

The softest inhale is the only evidence of his quiet shock. But his gloved hand is quick to grasp her wrist. And for a moment Liz is afraid he will tell her no. That even she is no longer allowed to see his face here in the oh so sacred Death Room. Just the thought is enough to make her blood run cold, her eyes wince ever so slightly.

But no. His fingers trail delicately up her skin until his hand is fitted over hers, holding it while he briefly leans away. His free hand removes that damned mask, throws back the hood of his robes. Those golden eyes are relieved as he guides her palm to press against his cold cheek.

Her thumb traces the sharp angle of his cheekbone, again and again. And piece by piece, the façade fractures and crumbles away. His expression, kept so carefully cool even behind the mask, now shows what he fought so hard to hide. Exhaustion in the heaviness of his lids, stress in the tightness of his brow. The straight line of his shoulders begins to tremble and shake, the weight of literally the entire world finally dragging them down.

She pulls him in at the same time he leans into her, head falling heavy on her shoulder. His morbid, cold aura shatters entirely until only Kid, tired and frightened and consumed by obligation, clings to her with desperate fingers.

“You’re doing great,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss against his temple.

“Thank you,” he replies softly, like she’s given him a precious gift. He buries his head further into her shoulder, as if to hide away in her hair.

And the Grim Reaper, the new Lord Death himself, she holds safe inside her arms.


	2. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When Liz stands next to him, she feels like they can all see it. A dirty, New York street rat pretending to be somebody."

Want to suggest a prompt for Kid x Liz or peruse my other works? Click here: [X](https://leighthepeach.tumblr.com/) 

Kudos and comments are very appreciated!

* * *

 

Despite not wearing the mask, there is no mistaking the new Shinigami. He looks striking beneath the soft light of the ballroom chandeliers, his black, swirling cape dripping from his shoulders, revealing glimpses of the perfectly tailored suit beneath. His glowing golden eyes are outlined in severe liner and white silk covers his elegant fingers as they accept endless handshakes.

Even if he weren’t the Grim Reaper, Liz knows people could not help but stare. He has an eerie beauty, a deadly magnetism. Even she, who spends every day at his side, tracks him with her eyes from her seat across the room.

Legendary meisters and weapons and some of the highest dignitaries in the world vie for his attention. They hold short, polite conversations, exchange quiet jokes, clasp hands, and stand at his side for the photographers that never seem to be far. It’s hard to watch. Countless women, clad in glittering jewels and designer gowns look so damned gorgeous beside him. Even though he never offers to place a courteous hand on their shoulders, their backs, intentionally leaves a small gap of what is clearly his space, they are still where Liz should be.

With him.

Scowling, Liz lifts her glass of champagne and downs it like a shot. It’s not like she has anything to worry about. Kid has never once given her reason to doubt his devotion. He even spent the ride over softly admiring every aspect of her appearance, holding her hand in his, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before their chauffeur let them out of their car.

But Kid’s not the problem. It’s her. Sure, she can play dress up all she wants, bedeck herself in gowns and diamonds and delicate heels. But it’s still just a costume. Underneath it all, she’s still one of the Thompson Sisters of Brooklyn. A broken city girl who has had to face the world with bullets and a sharp silver tongue instead of a name and a checkbook. And when she stands next to him, she feels like they can all see it. A dirty New York street rat pretending to be somebody.

One of those elegant weapons would suit him so much better. A little heiress wouldn’t feel out of place among the rich and royal. 

Misery washes over her, settling heavily on her shoulders, in her stomach. Within a second his eyes snap to her, as if sensing her thoughts. (He is so attuned to her soul, perhaps he does). And she knows her reassuring smirk comes too late, because for the first time that night, his cool expression falters, concern flashing in his suddenly intent gaze.

No. She can’t mess this up! It’s one of the biggest events he has ever attended as Shinigami. With some effort, her lips lift into a full smile, her head shaking to convince him that no, nothing’s wrong.

Kid’s eyes linger. But eventually he turns back to one of the Death Scythe’s, resuming their conversation.

Determined not to give him another reason to worry, Liz rises from her table and begins to wade into the crowd. Maybe she can find Maka or Soul to stay busy.

Just when she spots the familiar blonde pigtails and white, spiky hair, a hand snags her wrist from behind.  _Oh, you picked the wrong day, pal_. Furious that anyone would dare to put their hands on her, Liz whirls, red skirt wafting around her long legs. And then looks straight into warm golden eyes.

“Kid.” 

“May I have this dance, Liz?” His voice is soft.

Feeling other eyes, seeing cameras flashing in the distance, she nods once. Kid pulls her gently against him, entwining their fingers and placing a cool hand at her waist. A murmur goes through the crowd as Lord Death twirls her onto the dance floor. But Kid doesn’t seem to care.

With him leading, the slow dance is effortless, their bodies moving in lovely synchrony as they turn. With every step, Kid draws her closer, until they are chest to chest, soul to soul.

“Have I told you yet how breathtaking you look tonight?” The words fan across her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. And damn him, red floods to her cheeks. “Because you do. That dress has been driving me mad since we left.” His palm slides lower, tracing the curve at the small of her back.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be posing with the Queen of England or something?” 

So impassive only moments before, Kid smiles now. “No. I am precisely where I belong.” Long fingers ghost over her cheek, hook behind her ear. And when Kid captures her lips with his, Liz knows she is too.

 


	3. Necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a reason Kid’s father kept Spirit close at hand. A reaper needs a scythe, a true scythe. Which means Soul is much better suited to be Kid's weapon than Liz, right?

Want to suggest a prompt for Kid x Liz or peruse my other works? Click here: [X](https://leighthepeach.tumblr.com/) 

Kudos and comments are very appreciated!

* * *

He is struck by the portrait of Liz in the doorway, sunlight framing her face, the blonde hair that wafts in the dry desert wind. Her dark blue eyes are looking away, brows drawn low.

Oh god, she’s so perfect it _aches_.

“Well, I guess this is it. Thanks for everything, Kid, really.” Stiff, hesitating. Neither of them are any good at this sort of thing.

“It’s me who should be thanking you. I can’t imagine what my life would have been like without you.” Nor could he imagine the future without her either. “Truly.”

Her head ducks and she fiddles with one of the tags on her luggage. “Me either.” When she glances back up, her eyes are red. And the sight of it is like a punch to the gut. “I hope Soul takes care of you.”

She chokes out the words and that’s all she can stand. “Bye, Kid.” The sound of the door shutting, her heels on the stairs. And Death the Kid feels like he’s been shot, her farewell hitting his heart dead center.

With sudden, horrible clarity, the realization that she is really and truly leaving drowns him. No more will Liz walk at his side, her casual presence always there to counter his raging anxieties. No more will he see her amused smirk, listen to her warm laugh. No more will she quietly greet him during late nights, pretending she wasn’t staying up til he returned. No more will she ask endless questions, her own curiosity spurring his own as they seek to understand the world. No more will she offer comfort when he truly despises himself, reduce mistakes to their actual significance. No more will she bare her rare and beautiful soul to him, share her thoughts.

And the truth of it dissolves every ounce of control he has left.

Beelzebub materializes in his hand, and all of Death City stares in shock when they see the newly realized Lord Death soaring desperately through the sky.

Within minutes he has caught up to her car, darted in front of it until the driver is forced to stop, brakes squealing on the dusty road.

Liz slams open the door, her tear-streaked face red with anger. “Kid, what the hell? You could have killed us!”

A single leap from his board and a few frantic steps are all that’s left before he drags her into his arms. “Liz, don’t go.” 

Her complaints halt, her hands shaking at her sides. “You heard the other Death Scythes. I’m no use to you here. You need an actual scythe.”

“No.” His head shakes, adamant, frantic. “No, Liz.” He pulls back only to look down into her eyes. “Damn the other Death Scythes, damn tradition, damn me for ever thinking they were right. I need you.”

“But without Patti–.”

“Not a weapon, Liz. I need  _you_.”


End file.
